


Thinking

by DaylilyAntares



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Invasion of Privacy, M/M, Mirror Universe, POV Second Person, Vulcan Mind Melds, but hes Kind Of Into It, the homoeroticism of being backed against a wall and melded with, the you in this case is mccoy, yeah its got that one really tense suuuper horny scene in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22762213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaylilyAntares/pseuds/DaylilyAntares
Summary: Mirror Spock is oddly close to normal Spock. McCoy keeps thinking.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Mirror Spock, Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 2
Kudos: 90





	Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not particularly interested in mirrorverse? however I'm giving a friend a MASSIVE L by doing this and this is actually somewhat interesting to me (compared to the mirroverse itself)

So much of this version of the Enterprise is wrong. It's violent, and painful, and imperialistic and militarized. It's almost worse, then, that he's barely changed.

If they changed outfits, and got rid of that beard, he'd be nearly indistinguishable from your Spock. It would've been easier if he was barbaric and emotional. This is too familiar, and hits too close. It doesn't surprise you when you wonder, what it would be like to kiss your own Spock, with a beard.

It doesn't surprise you, finding out the kind of people you are in this other world, to see that the ship's crew has lost its humanity. Something you valued above all else, that compassion for others. The desire to protect rather than harm.

That's gone, now. And it does not surprise you, but it unnerves you now, that Spock is more human than the rest of them are here. He isn't your Spock, but he's Spock. And even that's too close.

His voice is rougher. It doesn't grate as unpleasantly as you'd expect, and you don't want to examine the feeling in the pit of your stomach hearing him. His eyes are just as guarded, but what he projects is icy. Dangerous. Cold.

You've seen your Spock's eyes look like that before, but this is the first time they're really pointed at you, and you can feel your pulse in your neck loud enough that you're sure he can hear it with those Vulcan ears. When he looks you in the eyes, only for a moment, you feel a chill shoot down your spine, and you resist a shiver.

Your Spock never looked at you like that, not like he was preparing to rip your defenses apart like tissue paper and leave you bare and vulnerable. This one does.

Your hands don't shake. You are a doctor, you're a surgeon, and your hands are almost always steady. They don't shake now, but your palms are damp and your throat is dry.

You shouldn't have been surprised that he figured out what was going on well enough. When he crumples to the ground, Jim brings him to a biobed and helps lay him down. He's hurt, of course he is. You look at him unconscious there. He's peaceful when he's unconscious, and you can see your Spock in him.

You wait to make sure he recovers, saying you'll catch up. Part of you argues, tells you to run now, leave him. If he died it wasn't your fault, it isn't your Spock. But he's Spock.

You stay, and use the hypospray on him, watching his vitals. The distance between you has never been smaller. You're close enough to touch him. You feel fear, when he sits up fast, and grabs your arm. He looks you in the eyes again, and it's just as sharp, but now he's close enough to hurt you. You can feel each thin finger dig into your forearm through your sleeve.

"Why did the Captain let me live?"

You can count the number of times your hands have shaken, since you joined 'fleet, on one hand. Your hands are shaking now, but it's past your hands. All of you is shaking. For a moment, you let yourself resist him. You try to pull away, but he makes it clear you can't. You move barely two inches before he yanks, and your arm follows in his grip where he wants it. You look at where he touches you.

Vulcans are touch telepaths. There's still the sleeve of your uniform between you, but his presence is strong. Stronger than your Spock, because it's already crowded up against yours. You look back at him. This is the longest you've stared him in the eyes, and he doesn't break it, not now. You broke it to look away, but you don't think you can, not again. He holds you by the arm, but he has all of you trapped.

He gets off the biobed, and you wonder for a moment if this is how mice feel being backed into a corner, by a cat. It's an accurate comparison, because the look in his eyes tells you he can and will, consume you entirely.

He moves forward slowly, and you back up. You swallow, around nothing, and you know he sees it. You're still shaking, and don't think you could stop if you tried. But you don't try. He'd notice. Your back hits the wall more gently than you expect, but there's no time to examine that. Because his other hand is moving. You're still looking into those eyes, and he's still watching you.

He touches you, and his fingers are too warm. Not enough to burn. You almost wish they would burn. The pain would break the spell. You know the configuration, how his hand is arranged. You don't want him to come inside. You don't want him to examine the tightness in your stomach, the way you shake, and the effect the look in his eyes has. You wonder if the other Bones has felt like this, when this Spock looks at him.

You move, but you know you can't get away. His touch on you never moves or falters, when you turn your head slightly, lean it back. He stands near, but doesn't touch you, more than that grip on your arm, and the fingers pressed to your face, but he's suffocating.

His mind crowds up against yours, and you feel more pinned than you would if he pinned you physically. He's stronger than you. His body, and his mind. Then he speaks. His voice is low, and rough. There's a rasp, to it.

It makes you _shudder._

"Our minds are merging Doctor. Our minds are one."

_Please._

"I feel what you feel. I know what you know."

_Don't._

You're looking him in the eyes, but you're thinking about his mouth. You must be clammy to the touch, with how you think you're sweating. He's leaning in closer.

You've tried not to examine that feeling in your gut. He must examine it for you, when he starts to sink into your mind.

It feels like being covered in a thick coat of warm honey, or molasses. He's everywhere, and he's learning about your own universe, knowing it. Knowing you. He has what he wants.

But he goes deeper. And he sees your Spock. You, and your Spock. Together. Kissing. His hands on you. Yours on him. The intensity of your feelings for him.

Then... him.

How you see him.

And he picks the thread of thought out of the tapestry for you, and stretches it between his fingers. He still stares into you when you hear him in your mind.

His voice is thick and you can almost feel an eyebrow crook upwards.

_Arousal._

_Oh._

You feel like you're being pressed into the wall, and you flatten against it without him even touching you. You shudder, and the shock that squeezes down between your legs is palpable.

There's amusement. You really are the mouse, you think. Cats play with their food, and he thinks you're amusing.

He's too close to you, from what you can see, staring you down. You feel his breath on your face, through the grip on your mind that almost feels like it's at your throat.

Then the grip on your arm is gone. You should push him. You should run, duck, dodge, get away, get back to Jim.

You grab at the wall behind you, press your hand to it, as if it could help keep you upright. You realize for the first time, you still have the empty hypo in your other hand.

It hits the floor.

_Surrender._

You think your knees are going to give out, when he steps closer. You've left yourself completely open. Vulnerable.

Both hands are pressed to the wall behind you. one of his hands is on your face, keeping you submerged in the heavy heat of his mind wrapped around yours.

You feel more than you see the thinnest, little quirk of a smile, at his lips. You're still thinking about that mouth then. And those hands.

He really is almost on you now, and his body heat almost warms you just a breath away from yours. If you moved forward, moved at all, you'd press against him.

The free hand you're thinking about, presses to your abdomen, just above the waistband of your uniform pants, palm warm against you and fingers in danger of slipping under the hem.

You move unintentionally, at least, you think you do, forward. You're thinking about more than his mouth and hands. And he knows.

Your eyes shut for the first time in his presence, when you no longer need to wonder what it feels like to be kissed by Spock with a beard. There's just as much heat. It rasps, like his voice, against your parted lips.

You stop thinking.


End file.
